


Thy Fearful Symmetry

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bonding, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel are the victims of an unbreakable magick that causes them to lose their inhibitions and embrace their “wild side”.  Between a hunter with a demon blood addiction and an angel who’s developed a taste for humanity, Gabriel and Dean need to work quickly to keep them in line and to try and find a cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Fearful Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_reversebang**](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/). I was really blessed to be given an opportunity to work with [](http://omphalos.livejournal.com/profile)[**omphalos**](http://omphalos.livejournal.com/) for this challenge, and I strongly encourage you to visit her wonderful artwork [here](http://omphalos.livejournal.com/128708.html)!

There are some things – not many, but some – that hunters just _don’t hunt_. Some things that should be respected, some things that are _sacred_. Things that don’t seek to harm, things that are pure in ways even gods can’t claim to be. Things that the angels themselves would stand in awe of.

Most of these things are ancient, and most have learned to stay hidden. Their lives are tied to the very creation of the earth, their _souls_ bound to her forests and seas, to her mountains and skies. These are the things that create laughter and tears, the things that bring about hope and faith.

These are the things that people prayed to before they knew the word _God_ , the things they gave their lives for before they knew the word _sacrifice_.

They take the shape of whatever is most convenient, whatever matches their personality the closest.

There are many, but not as many as there once were.

They are the totems, the spirit animals, the _protectors_. They keep watch over all of Creation, and they fight for it, unseen and brutal and _powerful_.

But it is very, very wise to keep one thing in mind when and if you’re ever blessed enough to meet one.

 _Don’t piss it off_.

  


  


  
“I don’t care how much you want it,” Gabriel says, his voice harsh. “You’re not suckin’ down a demon.”

Sam whines pathetically, making a halfhearted attempt against the power of an archangel’s grace restraining him, keeping him shoved up against the ugly brick wall.

Gabriel watches him, his arms crossed over his chest as he fights to keep his face impassive. “I don’t know how to help you, Sam,” he says. He tries to ignore how some of what he’s feeling bleeds into his voice. Tries to ignore how desperate he’s becoming…how desperate they’re _both_ becoming, Sam because of the magick and Gabriel because he can’t – _won’t_ – lose Sam. “I can’t fix this.”

“Gabriel…” Sam’s sobbing now. “Gabriel, why are you doing this? I need…”

“You don’t,” Gabriel says harshly. “You want it, and it’s not your fault, I know it’s not, but damn it Sam, I won’t let you. You’ve worked too hard, you’re not…”

Sam’s head hits the wall as he thrashes, and the next time he looks at Gabriel, the craving in his eyes has been replaced by inky blackness, though Gabriel knows he hasn’t given in, knows Sam hasn’t had a single drop of demon blood.

He’s tapping into reserves left over from infancy, tapping into what Azazel left behind.

And all Gabriel wants, in that moment, is to get rid of that taint forever.

“Fine,” the archangel says, stepping right into Sam’s space. He tilts his head up, meeting Sam’s eyes without fear. “You want blood so badly? You want to be something other than human so much?” He creates the knife from the ether, nothing more than thought and a finger-snap. Sam’s eyes track the movement as he brings it to his neck, slices a clean cut.

There’s a dizzying rush as he releases his hold and Sam growls, grabs his arms and spins him, shoves him against the wall and closes in, one leg shoved between Gabriel’s as he leans down greedily, as his mouth find the wound…

  


  


  
_By the time Sam realized what it was he was facing, what it was he’d just done his damndest to kill, it was far too late. He’d never seen one, had only ever heard rumors of their existence, and there’s no way he could have known, but that didn’t matter to the spirit animal._

_The panther-that-wasn’t-a-panther stalked closer, its movements liquid and graceful, black fur sleek and shining. For a long moment, the only thing that appeared otherworldly about the creature was its eyes, which glowed a baleful yellow in the ever-darkening shadows of the forest._

_“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, his gun clattering to the ground, but it wasn’t enough. The “I didn’t mean to” was lost in a flurry of sound and motion as the massive feline lunged, claws outstretched, an animal scream ripping through the air. There was no time to cry out, no time to brace himself, not even a moment to wish for his brother, his big brother who’d always tried to protect him, who’d always –_

_– The thought was lost in light, and heat, and **wings** , and there was a hand clamped around his waist, a riot of motion and color as he was swung around, propelled away, a furious roar as the panther was thwarted in what had been a sure kill, and Sam was on the ground, sitting up painfully, watching as Castiel faced off with the creature…_

_Sam had no breath to warn him, to cry out, to tell Castiel what it was he was about to try and smite, but Castiel wasn’t a fool, and he’d already dropped to his knees in supplication before the hunter could blink._

_The panther – the **totem** – paused, eyes flashing as it stared down at the angel before it. If it spoke – and it must have – it was in a way only the angel could hear and interpret, because Castiel lifted his eyes and outright **begged**._

__  
**Please. He couldn’t have known. We’ll leave you in peace. Please.**   


_Sam couldn’t breathe, so sure he’d been about to die, saved by an angel whose sole purpose seemed to be watching out for his **brother** , not him, and Dean would never forgive Sam if this somehow got Castiel killed as well, and…_

_The spirit animal had turned, was watching him, and his heart was pounding, ready to burst from his chest, and he knew, knew with absolute certainty, that there was no getting out of this… And then its eyes flashed, and it **smiled** , as much as something shaped like a panther could smile, and everything went very, very bright._

  


  


  
Castiel has never had a sense of personal space, but this is different. This is him backing Dean up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, this is the angel leaning into the hunter’s space, placing his hands on Dean’s hips as he nuzzles into his neck, breathes in his scent.

This is Cas _needing_ Dean.

And this is Dean, giving himself over willingly. Because there are worse things for Cas to be dependent on in his quest for… _whatever_ it is he’s seeking…than this. This is better than before, when Dean found Castiel studying a bottle of pills, when the angel had already been doing his damndest to get as drunk as possible.

This is safe. This is still _Cas_ , this is the Cas he knows and cares about, the Cas who hasn’t been broken by humanity. He still remembers that Cas, the one who smiled without smiling, whose eyes were dull and lifeless and shattered, the one who indulged in sex and drugs and alcohol without thought or reservation.

He would do anything to prevent this Cas from becoming that one.

Anything.

Even this.

Dean tilts his head, captures Castiel’s lips with his own, swallows the angel’s shattered moan. He doesn’t fight when Castiel pushes him back on the bed, just allows himself to fall and then pulls Castiel with him, soothing Castiel’s desperation with strokes and whispers and kisses.

Castiel saved Dean once from the depths of Hell. Dean owes it to Castiel to save him in return.

  


  


  
_Castiel wasn’t sure how long they’d been unconscious, but it was long enough that the forest had gone dark, even the moonlight hidden by the canopy of trees above them. Everything was perfectly still, perfectly **silent**. Unnaturally so, but given what had been here, Castiel found he wasn’t surprised._

_He’d caught glimpses of totems in the past, during his countless millennia spent watching over earth, but he’d never come face-to-face with one. It wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. The sheer, raw power…_

_He shuddered, rolled over, crawled to Sam. The hunter was curled in a fetal position on the ground, shivering, though it wasn’t at all cold this late in the summer. Searching out the ebbs and flows of Sam’s soul, trying to get a read on the hunter before he woke him, Castiel reached out and pressed a hand very gently to Sam’s chest. Felt the way his heart beat, slow and measured and **human**._

_Something stirred, deep within him, a need he couldn’t pinpoint, a desire he couldn’t articulate. He was suddenly tired, so tired, and he curled around the hunter, keeping his hand pressed to Sam’s chest, though Sam’s wasn’t the heartbeat he longed to feel so close. He let his eyes fall closed, though he shouldn’t sleep, shouldn’t even want to sleep…_

_**Why not?** he wondered, and when an answer was not forthcoming, he allowed his mind to drift._

  


  


  
It’s easy to tell the exact moment the blood hits Sam’s system. His body begins to tremble, and a moan tears from his throat as his head falls to Gabriel’s shoulder. Suddenly, instead of Sam holding Gabriel against the wall, Gabriel is supporting Sam as his blood mixes with the demonic, as it burns through Sam, as it _changes_ him.

This wasn’t Gabriel’s first choice. But he knows it’s the only one he had left.

He holds onto that thought as Sam begins to scream.

This is only the first step. But the rest can’t be decided until he knows what Sam wants when the demon blood is no longer a factor.

Until then, he’s going to try something he hasn’t tried in a long time.

He’s going to pray.

  


  


  
_Sam woke the way he always did, the way he’d been trained since birth. Instantly upright, alert, eyes tracking for movement, for danger, for possible weapons and means of escape._

_He saw Dean standing tensely near the bed, his brother’s eyes sharp-edged and nervous, and Gabriel across the room, his own expression golden and intense. Beside him, Castiel barely stirred._

_Sam was confused, couldn’t remember how they’d gotten here or why Castiel had been sleeping beside him, but it didn’t seem…important, really. They were here, and clearly everyone was okay. He allowed himself to relax, allowed himself to focus on the thrum of pulsing energy just underneath his skin, the hum of power dancing at his fingertips. Familiar but different than what he knew. Always there, but never like this._

_His body wanted it, wanted more of it._

_Who was Sam to deny it?_

_“How you feelin’, kiddo?” Gabriel asked. Sam saw the way his tawny eyes flicked to Dean, the way his mouth curved down into a frown that didn’t seem to fit right on his face._

_Sam wanted to go over, wanted to find a way to get rid of that frown because it seemed **wrong** on Gabriel’s face. But some things were more important, and cheering up the archangel could wait. “Fine,” he said, fixing his face into something like a reassuring smile. “A little confused…can’t really remember much after getting to the forest…I **was** hunting something, right?…but yeah, fine. Near as I can tell.”_

_Another wordless exchange between his brother and the archangel. Sam stood, stretched. On the bed, Castiel stirred, blinking his eyes open, but Sam paid him no attention. “I’m gonna go for a walk…clear my head a little.”_

_He would normally never leave when his brother looked like that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam knew that. Dean thought something was wrong, and Sam normally would stay and help him figure it out._

_But it didn’t matter, and Sam wanted to walk._

_He didn’t hear Dean call out to him, or notice Gabriel slipping out of the motel room behind him._

_He was on a mission – a hunt of a different kind – and didn’t much feel like letting the little things distract him._

  


  


  
“Cas, you remember what’s going on, right?” Dean asks, even as he gasps and arches into Castiel’s touch. “Remember what we’re doing, and why we’re… _ahh, fuck_ …doing it?”

Castiel nods, his expression focused as he strokes Dean through his jeans, doing his damndest to make Dean forget his own name. “Why would I forget?” he asks, his voice low. “I know. I know why I feel this way, I remember what you told me about the totem. It just…”

“Isn’t important,” Dean finishes, and drags Castiel down for another heated kiss, licking into the angel’s mouth and shifting so he can press against him, cocks dragging together through two layers of denim that he’s going to need to get rid of soon.

He knows Castiel’s feelings about the magick. He knows that though Sam and Cas have both been told about the totem, though they both know why their inhibitions have vanished so entirely, it makes no difference to them. They _want_ , they _need_ , and everything else is secondary.

That’s why Dean’s here. That’s why Dean’s about to give _everything_.

But he can’t allow Castiel to lose focus. Castiel wants Dean, and that’s a start. But Dean needs Castiel to want more than his body.

He needs Castiel to want his soul.

Castiel needs to initiate this, because Castiel is the angel. He’s the one with the power.

So Dean needs to make sure he uses it.

  


_Castiel woke feeling loose and relaxed. Sam had been a warm presence beside him, that heartbeat soothing Castiel even in the oblivion of not-dreaming. Castiel could feel the residual power left behind from Gabriel transporting them here, and he was glad that his brother had done so. The bed was soft underneath him in a way the ground would not have been._

_He was disappointed to feel when Sam left the bed, but he didn’t try to stop him. Sam wasn’t his responsibility, and Sam wasn’t what he really wanted anyway._

_Dean looked worried as he watched their brothers leave the room. But Dean always looked worried, these days. All Castiel wanted was to smooth away those lines on his face, clear away the shadows that clung to his soul. Without conscious thought, he released the hold he kept over his wings at all times, sighed deeply as they flared out behind him, free for the first time in a long time._

_Green eyes widened in that beloved face, and Dean gasped as one wing swept around, curled around him. Castiel dared those soul-shadows to withstand the feel of an angel’s grace, and yes, there it was…Dean’s face was lit with rapture at the feel of Castiel surrounding him, Castiel’s love driving away the worry for his brother for a few precious moments._

_Castiel blinked and wondered why he’d never done this before._

_He was allowed to enjoy it for only a moment more before Dean was shoving away, frantically trying to escape the warmth and protection of Castiel’s wings._

_“Cas, what the **fuck?** ”_

_Another blink as disappointment flooded him. As the hunter escaped out the door, looking shell-shocked and angry and maybe even scared._

_Castiel needed Dean to need him, but Dean never would. Castiel, on the brink of a war he couldn’t contain, restless and sometimes-broken and feeling so very out of control, needed **something** , and Dean apparently couldn’t give it to him._

_He wondered, curiously, what else there was to try._

  


  


  
The shift in Sam’s soul happens gradually as the two bloods battle inside of him. Azazel’s blood is old, and powerful, and, regrettably, probably still carries a whiff of something resembling the angelic inside it. But it’s no match for Gabriel’s blood, and slowly, so slowly, the shaking and trembling and whimpering tapers off as Sam’s body acclimates, as Sam himself becomes something less and less like a demon and more and more like an angel.

Sam Winchester hasn’t been fully human since he was six months old. But he’s never, _never_ , been like this before. The purity of the soul that shines at Gabriel when he dares to finally take a peek is almost unbelievable.

Even with the magick the spirit animal has threaded throughout, Sam’s soul is _beautiful_ , beautiful in a way Gabriel had forgotten things could be.

And then Sam opens his eyes, and rather than the depthless black of before, Gabriel sees warm hazel and a flash – just a flash – of grace-light, which coalesces into a pinprick glow in each pupil.

“Oh…” he breathes, and Sam tilts his head at him, grinning just a little even though he looks exhausted.

“Think you maybe jus’saved m’life,” the hunter mumbles, and then he falls forward, catching Gabriel’s waist with his hands and finding Gabriel’s lips with his own, and this…

 _This_ was what Gabriel had been praying for.

  


  


  
_As he walked, he could feel flickers of the power that waited on the edges of his consciousness. He knew how to use them, knew how to access them, knowledge passed from Lucifer to him in a fashion similar to that of father to son. He knew if he chose, right now, he would be able to get to them, even without the blood, and that was what made them different from before. It wasn’t the powers, wasn’t the blood, that was different. It was **him**._

_But blood would strengthen them. Right now they were weak. Ever-present, but crippled. Still, he could feel them, and right now that was enough. He smiled, breathing in the air around him, and let the waves of darkness wash over his soul, calling it to him instinctually._

_He bathed in it, and let himself be taken by it._

_He felt the archangel in the peripherals of his senses, but wasn’t bothered by it, or by the shocked wave of hopelessness that crashed over the creature of God. He’d find a way to make it right with Gabriel. Gabriel was important to Sam, and Sam knew Gabriel cared about him as well._

_He’d find a way to make Gabriel understand._

_He **needed** this._

_He needed it the same way he needed air to breathe. It was a part of him, a part he was so tired of locking away and pretending it didn’t exist._

_Gabriel would understand._

_He had to._

  


  


  
It hadn’t even been a tough decision, when Gabriel had finally brought it up. When the archangel had finally told Dean what an angelic bond entailed, and how it could be used to save both Castiel and Sam, if Dean was willing.

Dean’s _always_ been willing, even if he hasn’t always been willing to say it.

Dean’s belonged to Castiel from the moment the angel rescued him from Hell, and maybe this was an aspect of the relationship he’d been pretending didn’t exist, pretending he didn’t feel, but not because he wasn’t willing. It was because he didn’t want _Cas_ to feel obligated to _him_.

But this is the only way, and Dean can’t say there’s a single part of him that’s going to regret it, because he’s wanted this with Castiel for a lot longer than he’s willing to admit even to himself.

He’s less sure of the other part, the part that says once they’re joined, the totem magick will be shared, not gone. It’s going to change Dean, and Dean isn’t a fan of the idea. But it’ll be weakened, they’ll be able to fight it harder or keep it more in check at least.

He hopes.

Either way, it’s worth it.

At least Castiel won’t be alone.

They’ve lost their clothes, somewhere between Dean reminding Castiel of the curse and now, with Castiel licking and nipping and sucking his way slowly down Dean’s neck, down his chest, across to his nipple. Dean’s hands clench on the bedspread as a moan tumbles out of him, and he’s spreading his legs wider, letting Cas settle more comfortably between them.

“You want me, Cas?” he dares to ask, his voice low, shameless and wanton in a way he’s never heard it before. He swallows harshly.

Castiel doesn’t even raise his head to look at him, just continues swirling his tongue around Dean’s peaked nipple, driving the hunter crazy with need. “You know that I do,” he finally murmurs, blowing across the spit-slicked skin.

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” Dean grits out, achingly hard and desperate for _anything_. He has to force himself to concentrate, to slide the angelic ceremonial dagger from beneath his pillow and hold it, handle first, out to Castiel. “If you want me,” he pants, his heart racing, “then _take_ me.”

Castiel’s eyes widen, his breath stuttering as he eyes the dagger he _must_ recognize. His gaze flies to Dean’s, and there’s pure, helpless _need_ in those cerulean depths.

 _Yes_ , Dean thinks to himself, feeling victorious. _There it is_.

  


  


  
_The alcohol, when he tried it now, as a full angel and not nearly fallen like he’d been the last time, was all but tasteless on his tongue. It took him some time to figure out how to block his grace, how to allow himself to feel and to taste and to thirst the way he had when he was almost human._

_He drank himself into a happy oblivion, and couldn’t understand why he was not allowed to feel this all the time, why he had to work so hard for it. It seemed unfair, when it was something he needed so badly._

_Humans, he had learned with his experiences, had many things angels were not allowed, and he missed it. He missed the way that, even terrified and falling and weaker every day, at least as a human, there had always been something to cling to in the midst of all the hopelessness._

_He missed the way there were always ways to block the fear, and the pain, and the agony of living day-to-day._

_He missed the way they could feel, were **allowed** to feel, even when the feelings were bad enough that they **wanted** to block them._

_He missed the **safety** oblivion had offered him before, and now, finding it again, he lost himself in it with a determination he thought his Father would be proud of._

_However, **Dean** was anything **but** proud, when he found him not long after._

  


  


  
Sam is aware enough now to understand what's going on, to know that there's actually something wrong. Gabriel had told him before, of course he had, but Sam had been indifferent, caught in a haze of bloodlust and need, and it hadn't mattered why his inhibitions were gone. Now...now, they're still gone, but Sam is _Sam_ enough to understand the reasoning.

“Do we fix this?” he asks, nuzzling at Gabriel's neck, rubbing himself against the archangel. “Do we want to fix this?” He had been weak, but he's growing stronger by the second, and Gabriel's head hits the brick wall behind him as he moans.

“Yes,” he manages to say. “Yeah, Sammy, we fix this, but it's...ah... _ahhh_ , geez, kid...it's not exactly a win-win scenario. We should…probably talk about it.”

Gabriel doesn't want to talk. He really doesn't. Luckily, it seems that Sam isn't much in the mood for talking either, because he's busy nipping at Gabriel's ear now, while one hand dips into Gabriel's jeans and grasps his already aching cock.

Gabriel whines. “You're gonna be the death of me, Sam.”

Judging by the smile he presses to Gabriel's mouth, Sam's pretty okay with that. “Whatever your miracle fix is, do it,” Sam says. “I trust you.”

Those words, coming from Sam, especially while he's still under the totem's magic, undo Gabriel in ways nothing ever has. Sam _trusts_ him.

And Sam _wants_ him.

Well then. Sam's going to _get_ him.

Gabriel reaches down to the ground where he dropped it, picks up the slim dagger. He takes an unnecessary breath to ground himself before he meets Sam's eyes. “In that case, we're gonna be needing this again.”

Sam's eyes are dark and hungry.

  


  


  
_It was child’s play, finding a demon in this world that had somehow survived an apocalypse. They ran rampant in the streets, cockroaches of the supernatural variety, and no matter how long or how hard he and Dean, and the angels on their shoulders, fought, they just kept coming._

_Normally, it made Sam angry. Now, though, it made him **excited**._

_It was riding a homeless man, eyes coal-black in a bearded, snarling face as Sam came forward and grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket. Sam smiled, smelling the blood just beneath the surface, calling to him._

_It was power, power he knew how to use now, thanks to Lucifer, power he **wanted** in a way he never had before._

_Just before he could reach out, just before he could grab for the demon, the archangel he'd somehow - **stupidly** \- forgotten about was on him, dragging him away. Sam growled and fought and did everything he could to try and release Gabriel's hold, but he was weak right now, certainly no match for an archangel._

_“ **No!** ” he yelled, desperate. “I **need** it, don't you get it? I need it, Gabriel!”_

_His voice was barely human, but he didn't care. He needed the blood, needed the power, needed it all, and once he had it, he could make things better. Why couldn't **anyone** understand that?_

_He shouted his rage to the heavens even as Gabriel snapped his fingers and backed him into a deserted alley, even as Gabriel's eyes lit with grace and he dropped his usual mask of ‘Trickster’ and fully became the archangel, full of righteous fury that Sam just couldn't understand._

  


  


  
Castiel works the dagger with care, slicing into Dean’s skin cleanly and without hesitation. He chose a spot close to the tattoo on Dean’s chest, said it had to be close to his heart. Dean doesn’t watch, isn’t willing to see the blood he can feel sliding down to the bed, staining the white sheets with spots of dark crimson. He keeps his eyes on Castiel’s, clenches his teeth against the bite of the blade.

Besides, this isn’t _pain_. This doesn’t even touch on what he knows as _pain_.

When the sigil is complete, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, a question blazing in his own. _Are you sure?_ It’s something of a miracle that he can even take the time to ask, that the magick inside him is _allowing_ him to ask.

It means something, that he still cares.

Dean reaches up, drags Castiel down into another brutal kiss. “I’m sure,” he growls. “Do it.”

Castiel nods, a half-smile twitching at his lips, and then he unflinchingly slices across his hand. He holds Dean’s gaze as, without another thought, he presses his palm to the design he’s cut into Dean’s flesh.

The world goes white.

Dean arches up, his mouth open on a soundless scream as he feels his essence, his _soul_ , tearing itself in two, as a part of it reaches out and twines with something _other_ …with Castiel’s _grace_. It’s agony like he’s never experienced, it’s fire racing through his veins, setting him ablaze, it’s an _inferno_ of lightning and lust and love, oh _God_ , there’s so much love in that grace, for _him_ , and he _can’t stand it_ , it’s _too much_ …

There’s something that settles inside him, soothing him, holding him, and he recognizes this as _Cas_ , as the piece of the angel himself that Castiel has given to Dean, and slowly, so slowly, he feels himself relax, feels his soul right itself, feels the world gain meaning again…

His heart is beating out of control when Cas lifts his hand away, and there’s something bright and warm inside him where there wasn’t before. Dean feels the tears tracking down his face, but he doesn’t make a move to wipe them away, _can’t_ make a move to do _anything_ right now.

Cas wipes them away for him.

He suddenly can’t remember exactly why he ever questioned the idea of them being together, why he and Cas didn’t do this so much sooner. This thing between them has been there for so long, waiting for them to take it, and it feels like so much time wasted.

But time, they can make up for.

Castiel’s eyes are still searching his when he moves, when he grasps the angel by the arms and flips them. He moans when Dean darts in to press hungry kisses down his neck, down his chest, down his stomach. When Dean takes Cas into his mouth and revels in the way he can make the angel lose control.

When the bond between them flares and ignites and pulses in time with their synchronized heartbeats.

When the world around them loses all meaning and they are just the two of them, no longer _Dean_ and _Cas_ , but _Dean and Cas_.

Together.

  


  


  
_He had only been studying the bottle he’d retrieved, hadn’t even had the chance to open it yet, to see if the effects would be as the man he’d taken it from had said they would be. He didn’t see how something so small, so harmless looking, could bring about the feelings the man had promised, but humans were creative in ways angels had always been surprised by, and so he was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt._

_But he never got the chance, because suddenly Dean was there, and Castiel didn’t know how he’d missed the hunter returning to the room, but one moment there was no one, and then Dean was all the way in his space, grabbing the bottle and flinging it hard, shouting words that Castiel could barely make out because he was still allowing himself to be numb from alcohol._

_He scowled at Dean, and didn’t even bother forming a reply as he flung himself from the room on wings that forced the blurriness from his mind._

_He stayed gone for as long as the anger allowed him to, but without the drugs, without the chemical filling of this hole inside of him, he ached for Dean too badly, could not keep himself away for long._

_Dean made him **feel**. That was all he wanted. All he **needed**._

_He returned, keeping himself hidden until he could see what Dean’s mood was, and was surprised to find someone else in the room with the hunter already._

_He was also surprised to see evidence of tears-tracks on Dean’s face._

_“I don’t know what else we can do,” Dean said, his voice rough and weary. “And this is the best shot we got.”_

_Gabriel nodded. “It is.”_

_“Okay then. Go look after my brother.”_

_Gabriel left, and Castiel dropped the shield that kept him from Dean’s sight._

_The hunter met his eyes, and he held a hand out, and he smiled._

_In that second, Castiel didn’t care how unsure the smile looked. All he saw was the feeling behind it._

_He stepped forward, and he took Dean’s hand._

  


  


  
It’s the hardest thing Gabriel’s ever done, reaching forward and pressing his bleeding hand to the sigil on Sam’s chest. He’s been alone for a long time, and even God Himself bringing him back hadn’t made Gabriel any more inclined to tie himself down to his family again.

To be _choosing_ to tie himself for _eternity_ to a human…

 _Mostly_ -human, he silently corrects himself.

But it’s _Sam_ , and damn it all, Gabriel cares too much, _loves_ too much to not do everything in his power to save him. Really, this should be _easy_.

Skin finally touches, blood finally mingles. And Gabriel’s grace _erupts_.

  


  


  
It takes a long time for Sam’s head to clear enough to realize that they’re no longer in the alley. Sometime in between Gabriel pressing his knife into Sam’s skin and now, they’ve been transported into a room, and onto the softest bed Sam thinks he’s ever felt in his life. Gabriel is lying on top of him, trembling, his face buried in the space between Sam’s neck and his shoulder.

And his wings are cocooning them both in a blanket of warmth and light and grace.

There’s a pulse of _something_ in Sam’s chest, not just the piece of Gabriel’s grace from the bond the archangel initiated, but something else, something he gave Sam and that became Sam’s own.

Something that made Sam _more_.

Sam feels light where before there’d always been darkness, he feels _free_ where before he’d always felt trapped.

“Gabriel,” he breathes, and he can _feel_ Gabriel’s hesitation when he brings the archangel’s face up to meet his. He kisses it away because he knows he _can_ , tells Gabriel he loves him because there’s no reason to hold those words back anymore.

He’s held them back for too long as it is, and besides that, Gabriel can feel it now.

Gabriel can feel him.

Gabriel _bound_ them.

Gabriel is _his_.

And he’s very content to belong to Gabriel as well.

  


  


  
Dean had been afraid of the magick. He’d been afraid that it would change him back to what he feared most, back to what he’d been in Hell. Because that time stays with him, and he can remember, sometimes, the pleasure he’d found carving into people. He had been willing to take the risk, for Castiel, because Cas meant everything to him.

But he’d been afraid.

It’s a relief, an _indescribable_ relief to find that there’s nothing in him that craves the feel of a blade in his hand again.

Mostly all he cares about is Castiel, being close to the angel, getting as much of the angel as he can.

He can work with that, especially when Castiel seems alternately amused and amazed, and is more than willing to give Dean anything and everything he wants right now.

It’s easy, when all Dean wants is Cas.

  


  


  
“I don’t know that any of us will be able to keep hunting, now,” Castiel says, much later. Dean is curled into his side, all but purring as the angel runs a hand through his hair.

Dean has always craved contact, and he’s always pushed it away when it’s offered. Castiel enjoys knowing that the hunter won’t be so determined to anymore.

“I know,” Dean says, and there’s a sigh of regret, but he understands the reasoning. They’re more in control now, but it would be so easy to lose it at the wrong moment, in the _heat_ of the moment, to decide at the wrong second that it’s more important to do or take or need something outside of the job. And with all of the creatures they regularly face, many of which can compound on that feeling…

They’d be a danger to themselves and to the people they were trying to save. It’s just not worth it.

But there are other ways they can help, and they’ll find them.

Or maybe they’ll settle down, find a house somewhere off the beaten track, and simply indulge, for however long they want to.

It doesn’t matter right now, when Dean is sliding a hand up his chest, pausing as he measures the beat of Castiel’s heart. It doesn’t matter, when Dean is right here in his arms, warm and sated and _happy_.

It doesn’t matter, when everything he wants is already within reach. Is already _his_.

It doesn’t matter.

  


  


  
She watches from the shadows of the fabrics of reality, watches as they come together in love and light, watches as soul and grace and magick tangles and entwines. Inseparable bonds formed of the ether, forged with the blessings of not one God but two.

Gaia watches, and she smiles.

-  



End file.
